


First And Last

by missyvortexdv (Purpleyin), Purpleyin



Category: Torchwood
Genre: F/M, Regret, Undead Owen Harper, Unresolved Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-16
Updated: 2013-09-16
Packaged: 2017-12-26 19:37:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 695
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/969515
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Purpleyin/pseuds/missyvortexdv, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Purpleyin/pseuds/Purpleyin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There are lots of things he didn't appreciate before.</p>
            </blockquote>





	First And Last

**Author's Note:**

> Spoilers: Up to Episode 2x07.
> 
> Betaread by [](http://fififolle.livejournal.com/profile)[](http://fififolle.livejournal.com/)**fififolle**. Originally posted in 2008.

~

Five months ago he had his last birthday and he didn't know. Tosh made fairy cakes for the team and left the one with the candle on his desk. He'd scoffed at her sentimental ways and left the candle to burn out. The cake had stayed there for a week before someone binned it. He'd never taken a bite. Chocolate with orange icing and carefully sprinkled slithers of a chocolate flake. Probably double chocolate but he'll never know. There will be no cake this year, no birthday because as much as they'd like to pretend all is normal it's kind of insensitive to point out and try to celebrate the day you're born for a man who's dead. No more worldly pleasures, not unless he wants his breath to stink of decomposing food for...what, a few weeks at least?

There are so many 'lasts' he can think of. Things he never cared about until after he died. Stretching out half asleep, a lazy morning wakeup. Now he doesn't require sleep. Lying on the bed the sheets are crisp and clean, the mattress firm enough, everything comfy and of course he can close his eyes but all his senses are forever crystal clear, perfectly awake. The traffic buzzes in the background, fading into infrequent passers by, the birds eventually chirping. As he lies there all he has are the changing noises of the night into morning and his own thoughts – he gets up and nothing has changed, he's the same as ever, dead. No rest for the wicked.

But there is one first that sticks with him. He kissed Tosh and he doesn't know why. Because she needed it? He knows she must've meant what she said at least on some level. He's not sure it's as simple as that and he often wonders if there's still a chance for him. Naturally he dismisses, no point hurting anyone more than he already does, he wasn't a reliable bloke in life, death hasn't changed him that much. He regrets a lot of things but he's not all repentant of his style of living – he was never a nice guy and Toshiko deserved better. Guys like him only hurt women, he doesn't know how to play the perfect couple let alone happy families, plus that's all down the drain with recent events. No sex, puts a kink in a relationship.

Physically he doesn't miss it, he hasn't got any urges of that sort. It's more mental, that he knows what he's missing, what is denied to him, but increasingly it matters less and less because that's one small issue in whole heap of obstacles being dead creates. Yet he can _feel_ , he could feel pain, the rough of the bricks and the pressure of the kiss. That one was rushed, with the fear he'd really die, be gone for good.

He has more time and out of all the things he can do his mind sometimes stumbles on the thought of kissing Tosh again. Of doing it not because of where it leads, can't lead anywhere for him at least, but because of what it means and the little it would be that he can still feel. Getting involved with anyone would be a monumentally bad idea, but entertaining the notion doesn't hurt – one slow sure kiss upon the lips, pushing the boundaries bit by bit as it endures. A taste of life, a promise of _more_ – but that's where the dream fades, there's only so much he can give.

Tosh is always willing to give him whatever he asks; he'd never asked because that'd be using her. Even if she wouldn't care, he did – he wasn't _that_ much of a bastard to do that to her. She still hopes, he can see it in her eyes and there's a chance he could give her something and have it be meaningful like she wants. Only he has to face the fact that he's a man of limited options; he shouldn't start something he can't finish or that might finish him. The one constant he has now are his thoughts and he's got enough regrets without creating more.


End file.
